"No, forget it. I can't change what happened."
Aron stared at his reflection in the cracked mirror. The face looking back was older than time itself, wearing borrowed human skin like a cheap coat.
He adjusted the collar of his dark jacket. Maybe he really did deserve this endless exile. Maybe he should have never existed in the first place.
He had erased his own memories countless times over the centuries, trying to stay sane, trying to stay humble, trying to live small like the creatures he once helped create.
But this time, enough pieces had come back to hurt.
'Find the fruit…'
He knew exactly who held the fruit of forbidden wisdom—the first spark of corruption, the single domino that brought paradise crashing down.
Eve. That fucking bitch.
She still had it.
The woman who started everything.
If he could find her, take the fruit, his job would finally be over. The System would deliver the note from the Creator, and maybe—just maybe—he would understand why he had been abandoned here.
There was only one problem.
Eve hadn't been seen since the days after Christ's resurrection. Thousands of years, and not even a whisper of her existence.
Aron pulled out his phone. The contact name "Adam" glowed on the screen, number still saved. He tapped call.
"Come on… pick up," he muttered.
Nothing.
Typical.
It had been decades since they last spoke. Maybe Adam had chosen silence too.
"Fine. The hard way, then."
He slipped on his coat, slid on sunglasses to hide the faint gold in his eyes, and pulled a hat low over his unnaturally bright hair.
The moment he opened the apartment door, he almost walked straight into Uriel.
"For fuck's sake, Uriel," he groaned. "Do you practice jump scares in your free time?"
She didn't answer. Her face stayed blank, unreadable as always.
Aron brushed past her and headed for his car. As soon as he started the engine, he heard a faint rustle from the back seat.
"Seriously?" he said without turning around. "Stalker much?"
Silence.
Sometimes it was easier when she stayed quiet.
They drove through the city in heavy rain. The bright lights slowly faded, giving way to darker, rougher streets.
Uriel sat in the passenger seat now, watching him. She knew better than to ask questions. Any words would just bounce off the wall he kept up.
To him, she was a nuisance.
To her, he was her final assignment, her charge. His guardian angel.
She had grown used to the cold treatment. It was all just a matter of perspective.
They stopped at the edge of the old district. A flickering red neon sign bled through the downpour: Satan's Stay
Uriel's expression tightened. "Aron… I can't follow you in there. And if something happens, I won't be able to save you."
He pushed open the car door. "Who said I need saving?"
"Think for once," she warned. "That place—"
Aron raised his middle finger without looking back. "Message received."
Uriel's jaw clenched hard. She wanted to drag him back into the car, to stop him before the shadows swallowed him whole again.
But she couldn't. Her authority ended at the threshold.
As Aron walked toward the bar's entrance, her power thinned and dissolved into the dark. She had no jurisdiction here.
All she could do was watch as the door swung shut behind him, light and rain spilling around the edges like a dying halo.
"…Shit," she whispered.
Aron stepped inside—and the atmosphere hit him like a slap.
Every instinct screamed at him to turn around and leave.
He ignored it.
Heavy bass shook the floor. Smoke hung thick in the air, voices slurring over the music. The moment he entered, the energy shifted. No one liked his presence. He felt it in the way laughter died near the door, in the glances that slid his way and quickly looked elsewhere.
Most of the crowd was just drunk, bodies moving without rhythm, lost in their own little worlds.
But a few… a few stared too long.
[Lesser demons detected.]
He didn't need the System to confirm it. Their eyes were hollow, glinting like wet stone. Soulless things wearing stolen skin.
It would be so easy to cut them down.
But not tonight. They weren't worth the hassle.
Aron crossed the room and dropped onto a stool at the bar.
"Beer," he said flatly.
The bartender looked up. Recognition flashed across his face instantly. His eyes trembled for half a second before he forced them steady.
"…You… you shouldn't be here," the bartender muttered.
Aron lowered his sunglasses just enough for his golden eyes to catch the dim light.
The bartender swallowed hard, slid a pint across the counter without another word, and disappeared into the back as fast as he could.
Aron drained the glass in one long swallow. Alcohol had stopped affecting him centuries ago.
'Use spell: Soul Search.'
[Soul Search activated.]
[Please specify the soul type you seek.]
"A blend—ninety percent evil, five percent good, five percent corrupted variance," he murmured under his breath.
[Searching…]
[Three signatures detected. Range: five meters.]
"Hm. Good."
He was about to order another drink when he noticed the bartender had already vanished. Aron stood up—
A hand landed on his shoulder.
He turned to see a blonde woman with electric blue eyes smiling too brightly in the dim light.
"Where are you from, sweetie?" she asked, pressing him back down onto the stool as she slid into the seat opposite him.
Aron met her gaze. There was want in her eyes, but also fear hiding underneath.
Typical human.
He pushed to stand.
"Haven't seen a guy like you in ages… should we—"
Aron flicked her hand off his coat. She grabbed his sleeve instead, voice dropping to a desperate whisper.
"Please… help me. This place—"
"You knew what you were walking into," he said coldly. "Now live with it."
Her mouth opened, but he was already turning away.
'Typical indeed.'
The System's markers glowed faintly in his vision, pointing toward a side door with a single red bulb burning above it. Behind that door, souls were bartered like cheap goods—idiots trading pieces of eternity for fleeting pleasure or power.
Aron reached for the handle.
Then he paused.
'Don't look back. Just go in. Do the fucking job.'
He looked back anyway.
The same blonde woman was now surrounded by three men. One had her shoulder in a tight grip, dragging her close. Her bright eyes were wide with terror, realizing far too late what kind of pit she had fallen into.
Aron let out a long sigh.
"…For fuck's sake," he muttered, letting go of the door handle.
The men held her tight. Iron hands clamped over her wrists and hips. Her breathing came fast and shallow. Regret was written all over her face—she never should have sold that small piece of herself for a stupid moment of fame on some app. She had laughed it off at the time. Now the deal was done.
"You think you can walk away after making a deal? Cute."
The man behind her leaned in, his tongue sliding out—too long, too slick, too wrong.
She tried to scream, but the pounding music swallowed her voice. The people around them kept dancing, kept drinking, pretending nothing was happening. No one moved to help. This was normal here.
"Aaah, this bitch… if I look closer, she looks perfect for breeding gargoyles," another man said, his eyes flickering reptilian for a split second.
"No… no, no… Help!" she cried, the words broken.
Aron stepped forward. He moved between the men like he was parting cold air. All three turned at once.
They saw the coat. The hat. The glint behind the sunglasses.
Then they saw his eyes—gold, bright, and patient as a drawn blade.
"You… you're the Slayer," one of them whispered, stepping back but still holding the girl. "Why? She sold her soul. You have no right to intervene."
Aron's gaze traced the way they gripped her. He tapped his temple once, casual.
'Use spell: Scan Soul.'
[Scanning soul.]
[Result: 5% compromised; 70% good; 25% corrupted.]
Aron smiled—small and cold. "Five percent," he said. "You want to breed her over five percent? You really mispriced this one."
His voice sounded almost kind, but it wasn't.
The three men flinched. Their confidence cracked.
"Hey—yo, you can't—this is our area. We do what we want—"
Aron's smile stayed fixed. For a moment, the streetlight through the window seemed to flare inside his coat. The music cut out suddenly, as if someone had yanked the cord. The lights flickered, died, then stabbed back on. The entire room shivered under the pressure of his aura.
Their knees buckled.
The men released the girl and stumbled backward. The crowd turned, confused and annoyed by the sudden silence.
The blonde scrambled away, clutching her coat, eyes wet and wild. "Th-thank you," she gasped.
Aron barely heard her.
He had already felt the real presence he was looking for.
A hand landed gently on his shoulder.
"Hey, hey—steady there, Slayer."
A man in a sharp business coat stood behind him, face calm and clean. Red flickered deep in his pupils for one slow blink.
"…Baal," Aron said flatly.
Baal smiled, polite and dangerous. "Really? In my den?" His voice was smooth, but edged with steel. "Are you sure you want to do this… in front of everyone?"
Aron's patience was wearing thin.
"Let her go."
Baal's smile only widened as he looked at his shaken men, then back at Aron.
"Let her go…but."